


Tout en Couleur

by jesuisherve



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Nobody is Dead, colour AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisherve/pseuds/jesuisherve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The explosion of colour was dizzying. It was almost enough to knock Raoul Silva off his feet.</p><p>---</p><p>An AU where everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soul mate, and then suddenly everything is in colour. Inspired by a tumblr post. A quick thing I whipped together based on text messages with a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tout en Couleur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LightDescending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightDescending/gifts), [starfoozle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfoozle/gifts).



> tw for brief mention of self harm later

The explosion of colour was dizzying. It was almost enough to knock Raoul Silva off his feet. He kept his pace, however, and smiled at the bound man sitting in the chair in front of him. Arresting eyes. Raoul had never seen coloured eyes before. He wondered what colour this man’s eyes were. Of course Raoul knew the names of colours; red, yellow, orange, blue, green, purple, etc., but he could not for the life of him match the actual hue with a name. It’s hard to guess which gray tones would end up being red, which might be teal, or turquoise. The only sure thing was what colour would remain black.

There was nothing that could have prepared Raoul for what colour was like, nor could he have expected to have it triggered by Agent James Bond of MI6. Raoul’s heart beat painfully fast when he realized the implications of what it meant. He had found his soul mate. Usually the term ‘soul mate’ was laughable to him, but with the revelation of _colour_ , he could not think of any better way to say it. He felt drunk, or drugged. Things had a new quality. He ran his fingers over Bond, over his clothes, feeling the heat of his skin and was delighted at the subtle tones his skin had. He looked at his own hands, at the difference between his and Bond’s pigmentation.

Later, when he had a few rare minutes to himself, he would look up a basic colour palette (the kind posted in doctor’s and optometrist’s offices, the kind that would be accessible at the library or in health class at school), to quickly review the names of colours. Blue. James Bond’s eyes were blue. Raoul smiled to himself. What a lovely colour.

He wondered if James could see colour, too. He must be able to, since he caused Raoul to see full-scale.

\--

James Bond could only see in black and white, in shades of gray. He had resigned himself to it. He had met hundreds of people all over the world; he had slept with countless men and women. He had even loved a few but he had never seen even a flicker of colour. He could not even imagine the concept of what colour would be. He was bitter and had withdrawn quite a bit over it, especially in the recent past when he faked his death and retreated from MI6. The question that occurred to him the most was ‘ _did MI6 break me, or was I always defective?_ ’

He was private. He kept himself well guarded. He had put his heart out a few times, whether or not it was noticed by his intended target was irrelevant, what mattered was colour never ignited for him. Everything was grey, white, black. Life felt flat like he was looking at a photograph rather than experiencing it in person. James told himself that having a romantic partner was not the end all and be all of the human condition, but there was that voice insisting in the back of his head that everyone was supposed to see colour; why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he find that one person who would change his entire perspective?

When he saw Raoul Silva for the first time, the man seemed excitable. James regarded him coldly; took in his light toned hair, the patterns on his clothing, his grey eyes which were bright with enthusiasm and intelligence. The man seemed very enthralled, very evaluative of everything before him. James wanted to know if he passed whatever inspection he was being put through.

\--

Fire was beautiful. Raoul watched the explosions and the resulting blazes with enchantment. Red was a living colour.

\--

The church was grey. James felt that even if he could see in colour, the church would still be grey.

\--

The colours flared up bright and blinding when the knife pierced Raoul’s back. He fell to his knees and thought to himself that while red was a living colour; it was also a painful one.

\--

As the knife left James’ fingers, his vision exploded. Everything took on a completely new quality. His eyes widened. This was colour? Then everything went back to grey. James felt vulnerable for the first time in years.

\--

When the lights were off it was easier for James to pretend that it didn’t matter if he saw colour or not. If he closed his eyes he could only see black. The memory of colour was already slipping away from him. He couldn’t hold on to it, it had been too instantaneous. Raoul Silva had been his soul mate for that split second. Why? What had changed? The moment he decided to throw the knife, in a split second decision to take some sort of action, Raoul Silva had been meant for him.

James covered his face with his hands and stayed still for a long time. Maybe if he didn’t move the darkness could envelope him and he would dissipate, scatter into the air, and float into nothingness.

A year of asking himself why Raoul Silva had made him see colour in his final moments. A year of asking what was so wrong with him that it took a man like Raoul Silva to make him see full-scale.

His phone rang. It buzzed on the bedside table, interrupting the perfect darkness. James groped for it but knocked it to the floor. “Fuck,” he muttered, flicked on the bedside lamp, and found his phone still buzzing on the ground. An unlisted number. James squinted at the screen and hit answer.

“Hello?”

“Hullo James,” the voice was rich and warm.

James sat up and glanced at the screen one more time. Unlisted. It had to be a joke. “Who is this?” The corners of his vision were becoming saturated. He could see a hint of some colour he can’t name yet in the light cast by his lamp.

“Guess.”

“Fuck off.”

A chuckle. James looked down and can see the same quality as the light has affected his blankets, but it is a different nameless colour.

“It’s Raoul.”

James closed his eyes and leaned his head on his hand. “He’s dead.” James killed him, saw his colours go out. He had to be dead— _but how are you seeing colour again—_ people don’t just come back. Even little kids knew that the death of your soul mate snuffs out the colours from your vision.

“Was dead,” the voice on the phone corrected. “You’d be amazed at medical science these days. Most credit to the EMTs in the ambulance, however...”

James got up, walked to his bathroom. Flicked the light on. Stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are coloured. They have more depth now. “If you’re Silva, you could answer a few questions.”

Another laugh. “Of course. Come meet me, I can answer them in person.”

“No,” James touched the glass in front of him. Eyes are the window to the soul. He doesn’t remember where he heard that. Whoever had said it first must have been able to see full-scale. “Not yet.”

He heard a sigh on the other line. “Fine, then. Some proof of my authenticity. Ask away, James.”

“Who made you _see_?”

“You.”

James recoiled a little. Of course that was the right answer. How could have Silva been made to see by anyone else? Even though it came late, James saw because of him. Did not change how jarring it was to hear.

“What colour are my eyes?”

“Blue.” No hesitation. James considered the answer, rolled it around in his mind. He had no way of verifying the answer right then, but the speaker seemed very sure of it. James was just curious what the name of the colour was. “An arresting shade of blue,” the voice added.

“When and where?” James asked.

\--

“They are blue,” James muttered to himself after searching up colour charts on his computer.

\--

Raoul picked James up from the airport. They looked at each other, each burning with curiosity, when James had gotten into the car.

“Hello, love,” Raoul said with a lazy grin. He was looking at James through mirrored sunglasses.

“Must have been some talented EMTs,” James remarked, choosing to ignore that he had been called ‘love’. He seemed pale, like he was going to be sick. Raoul revved the car engine and peeled away from the airport as quickly as possible.

“I’m told that I did die for awhile,” Raoul said. “They managed to revive me. Interesting, no?”

“How did you get away?”

By all rights Raoul should be in MI6 custody. Or actually dead. James was curious to hear how he had escaped. He had been told that Silva had died. It was on his official record. Raoul grinned at him. “Did I say that MI6 was alerted to my revival? No. I had people in all sorts of places and professions, James.” That was all he would say on the matter.

“Does MI6 know you are here?” Raoul asked.

James shook his head. “I quit after your phone call.” He had to take time away from MI6. A week after Raoul’s phone call, James felt lost and unsure. It was an unfamiliar feeling for him. He was usually quite sure of himself. Even if he wasn’t, he could always count on being confident in his course of action. Quitting MI6 had happened on a whim, during a period of self-doubt. Originally he was simply going to ask for a leave of absence, but he thought that perhaps this, whatever _this_ turned out to be, was going to take longer than a few weeks.

\--

Raoul was staying in a large apartment. It was gorgeous. The decor was light and Barcelonan. There were vivid paintings hung on walls. James wanted to stop and look at them closely. He had not taken the time to view art since regaining colour. Raoul let him examine the apartment without interference but James noticed him watching with hungry eyes.

“I don’t trust you,” James told him as he studied the spines of books on a shelf. “You’ve done too much damage for me to trust.”

“I’m not asking for trust,” Raoul replied. “Not yet. I am aware of our contradictory situation.”

James gave him a level stare. “I’m only here because—”

“—because you _see_ ,” Raoul interrupted. “Because I made you see.”

The two men kept an even distance apart, like two magnets of opposite poles repelling each other. James did not want to let Raoul too close to him yet, while Raoul kept trying to close the space between them. It was a power play. Whoever conceded to the other would be the loser. To James’ surprise, Raoul gave up first. He took a seat on a long couch and raised an eyebrow at the Englishman.

“I grow tired of these silly games, darling. I wanted to see you again because I am meant for you, and I believe that you are meant for me.”

James decided to stay standing. He folded his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to one leg. He was quite relaxed, despite the obvious danger that Raoul Silva presented. He simply did not feel in danger. Raoul would have made a move by now if his goal was to harm him. “I didn’t _see_ until after I stabbed you.”

That was a shock for Raoul. James could see it on his face, in the way that he paled. “Really now?”

“Yes,” James pointed his finger at the other man like a gun. He mimed pulling the trigger. “I had to kill you before you were my match.”

Raoul laughed but it seemed forced. “There must be something Freudian in that, no doubt.”

“When did I make you see?” James asked.

Raoul’s smile faltered. “The moment I laid eyes on you.”

\--

It was a slow, wary build into something that eventually resembled a relationship. Raoul argued that since they were meant to be, that they were both full-scale because of one another, there was no harm in trying to function as a couple, but James guarded himself carefully for months. Old habits die hard and Raoul could still be unpredictable; but like many other times in James’ life, sex came before trust. James wanted to know if Raoul tasted as good as the colour red looked. He ended up tasting even better.

As their trust grew stronger, James decided that he liked the colour purple and loved seeing it on Raoul; whether it was as a shirt or the bruised print of his hand on the other man’s waist. James liked clear skies and could not abide rain because he was sick of seeing grey. Lightning storms were intoxicating. He would stay up at night to watch lightning and listen to thunder if there was a storm.

James sometimes slipped into a dark place where he liked to see blood. He had never seen it in colour before. Red is a colour he loved, and the deep vibrancy of blood was exquisite. There was something psychological driving him as well; guilt from leaving MI6 and taking up with Raoul Silva, a dash of posttraumatic stress disorder, and other self-destructive behaviours. It was a step away from his habit of alcoholism, but it brought a different kind of relief. Raoul discovered it after a few months and forced him to stop hurting himself. He couldn’t stand to see James hurt. He began taking James to art galleries and museums in a bid to assuage his hunger for vivacious colours and emotional impact.

Raoul liked to buy different wines to see what colours taste like what. What does a rose taste like in comparison to white? Dark red wines versus lighter ones. Chocolate wines, berry wines, fruit wines. They do the same with chocolate. There are so many varieties of chocolate. Dark, milk, white, fruit flavoured, even green tea chocolates, chocolates with hot pepper flavouring... Raoul liked to place white chocolate pieces on James’ chest and stomach and lick them off him as they melt on his hot skin. He told James that white chocolate tasted the way he would expect the colour to taste like anyway.

Raoul held a fascination with exotic animals, namely ones who have bright colours. He had a fondness for poisonous frogs and snakes. James teased him by saying he expected Raoul to have a bigger affinity for peacocks.

James learned to appreciate the different ways Raoul could flush red. When he is angry he usually went pale but sometimes his cheeks burned. When he was aroused, his skin takes on a pink glow. When he was laughing, it had a red undertone. Marks on skin were also a source of curiosity for the two of them. Raoul liked leaving pink and red suck marks, and long red scratches on James’ back and thighs. James never left light bite marks; his always darken to a bruise, but both men were fascinated by it. Bruises could be as colourful as almost anything.

\--

_“I think I love you.” Raoul’s voice breaks the silence of the night air._

_James turns in their shared bed to nuzzle his shoulder. Raoul takes his hand and their fingers interlock. He inhales Raoul’s scent and thinks of the colours he associates with him; purple, blue, orange. He thinks of how they are both learning how to live again, how to be their own people and what freedom is like._

_“I love you too,” he murmurs, pushing himself up to kiss Raoul’s mouth._

_“Show me,” Raoul growls._

_James pushes him over to straddle his hips._


End file.
